Daggummit, I totally forgot. OK, maybe forgot is too strong a word. I used to have a literary calendar that told me when Emerson's birthday was. Now I use an insurance company calendar. Turns out that companies who sell pre-need insurance to funeral homes aren't interested in Emerson's birthday. Their loss.
So now I have to determine how to celebrate Emerson on this refulgent May day only 48 hours past his birthday.
Tequila shots? Streaking the UU church? Dancing until my feet fall off?
No, I think a walk is in order. And a little Emerson poetry. And maybe I'll read some more of March by Geraldine Brooks. I've just recently read the chapter where the Little Women's mama gives Emerson a tongue lashing at the Thoreau family dinner table.
I also think I need to start greeting everyone, "Happy Emerson's birthday two days late!" That is a surefire way to get the party rockin'.